


(your hands) protect the flames

by shineyma



Series: protect the flames [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8083546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: It’s never a good sign when Grant gets diverted to the Córdoba base.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jdphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/gifts).



> This is a (slightly early) birthday gift for the beautiful and spectacular JD, who is amazing and sweet and deserves SO MUCH MORE than this sad offering. I love you lots and lots, sweetheart, and I hope your birthday is fantastic!! <3 <3 <3
> 
> Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

It’s never a good sign when Grant gets diverted to the Córdoba base. Being directed to a medical suite and finding Simmons when he gets there is even worse.

“She try to escape again?” he asks, looking her over for signs of (new) injury. “I told you to update those locks.”

Her handler gives him an unamused look, which might be a little more effective if Simmons weren’t watching him with a glare that could cut glass. Next to Simmons, Vogler just…isn’t that impressive.

Plus, Grant’s not exactly the easily intimidated type. That’s a factor.

“No,” Vogler says after a minute, apparently giving up on…whatever he was trying to accomplish with that face. “She didn’t try to escape.”

“Okay…?” Grant spreads his hands, inviting an explanation. “So why am I here? I was kinda in the middle of something.”

Vogler swells up like an offended balloon. “You’re _here_ because HYDRA ordered you to be. Any loyal agent would be overjoyed—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Grant interrupts. “Honor, duty, whatever.” He turns his attention to the strangely subdued Simmons. Usually she’s at the very least insulted him by this point, if not attempted violence. “Did you miss me? Is that it? Finally ready to play nice?”

Her glare kicks up a notch, but she doesn’t say anything. He frowns. She might not be injured, but she _is_ pretty pale. Even her knuckles are white from how tight she’s got her hands clasped in her lap.

Vogler’s also kinda pale, but more in a white-with-fury way. Grant’s not about to apologize, though; it’s no secret he’s not worshipping at the tentacled altar. He’s HYDRA because John was HYDRA, simple as that—and HYDRA’s not about to let a man of his skills go just because he’s got an attitude problem.

Point is, if Daniel Whitehall couldn’t shame Grant into paying lip service to HYDRA, some nobody handler sure as hell isn’t gonna manage it either…and Vogler must eventually realize that, because at Grant’s raised eyebrow, he relents.

“She’s pregnant.”

…What?

For a second, Grant just stares, certain he’s misheard. Vogler stares back expectantly.

“What,” he says flatly, and whirls on Simmons. “You’re— _seriously_?”

Her lips thin and her glare never wavers, but now that he knows why he’s here, he can see a little bit of panic hiding behind all that hate. She’s always been in a bad position here—and he regrets that, he does, even if it’s mostly her own fault—but it just got a hundred times worse.

No wonder she hasn’t tried to hit him yet. It’s a hell of a weapon they’ve got against her now.

“She’s refused to name the father,” Vogler says. “It was thought you might be able to identify him.”

Simmons closes her eyes. Grant’s mind races.

He _doesn’t_ know who the father is—although it’s a damn good question; he had her totally in love with him on the Bus and he’d swear she was too focused on him to look at anyone else—but it’s not hard to guess why HYDRA wants to.

If the father is someone valuable, someone with something HYDRA wants, an unborn child makes great leverage. If he’s got skills or connections or even just intel HYDRA can use, he’ll be working for them by the end of the day.

But if he _isn’t_ valuable…

Grant was vaguely aware of SHIELD’s pregnancy protocols, in the way every male ops agent was. They got one lecture on it at the Academy, a very blunt talk on the importance of birth control because a pregnant agent was a vulnerable agent was, in most cases, a _useless_ agent. From what he remembers, SHIELD protocol would have a pregnant scientist out of the lab sooner rather than later.

HYDRA doesn’t give a damn about a baby or its mother’s safety, of course, but Simmons will. In the months she’s been here, her cooperation has ranged from grudging to highly unwilling. She’s made countless escape attempts, sabotaged three very important projects, and even killed a guard. (Which, he’s gotta say, he’s still pretty proud of her for.)

But, all that aside, she _has_ cooperated. She’s resisted at every step and obviously hated every second of it, but they’ve gotten at least a little of their money’s worth from her.

When she’s got an unborn kid to worry about, though? When they’re pushing to her to work on something that might hurt her pregnancy? Her cooperation’s gonna drop to zero.

Grant doesn’t have to be clairvoyant to know how this’ll play out. For the next few months, however long it’s safe for a pregnant woman to be around the shit they’ve got Simmons messing with, HYDRA will use her pregnancy to motivate her and keep her in line. They’ll promise to let her have her baby—maybe even give her access to appropriate medical care—so long as she plays nice.

And the minute she decides it’s too dangerous to work, the minute she puts her foot down, they’ll force an abortion on her.

Even with all this HYDRA shit between them, Simmons is still his friend. He doesn’t want that for her.

So, as the panic and terror written in every line of her body tug at heartstrings he thought he cut _years_ ago, he makes a snap decision he’ll probably regret. “It’s mine.”

Simmons’ eyes fly open. Vogler chokes.

“Y-yours?” he stutters.

“That’s right,” Grant says, turning away from Simmons to give the guy a shrug. “What can I say? We spent months living in close quarters and my cover was a drag. Had to take my stress relief wherever I could find it.”

“You—I—” Vogler is totally thrown. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty damn,” he says. “Simmons is smarter than to sleep around on me—aren’t you?”

He has half a heartbeat to wonder if it was a mistake to draw attention back to her (if she’s too obviously shocked by his claim…if she refuses to play along…) before she nods.

“I was,” she confirms, voice both steady and spiteful. “More fool me.”

Grant smiles, hiding his relief behind arrogance. “See?”

“I’ll have to call this in,” Vogler says, backing towards the door. “You wait here.”

“Take your time,” Grant says sarcastically. “Not like I’ve got somewhere to be.”

Vogler flees, and Grant takes a seat next to Simmons on the exam bed. She gives him a sideways glance, but doesn’t speak, which is probably for the best. There’s no way they’re not being monitored; all those questions he can see brimming in her eyes are just gonna have to wait.

But the silence is kinda getting to him, making him second-guess the totally impulsive move he just made, so he might as well fill it.

“How comfortable is your cell?” he asks.

Simmons actually twists on the bed to face him in disbelief. “It’s a _cell_.”

“Not very, then.” He nods thoughtfully. “I’ll have to get you moved. Can’t have the mother of my child living in squalor.”

She scoffs.

“How far along are you?” She’s not showing that he can see, but she must’ve already been pregnant when he brought her here. If it’d happened on HYDRA property, they wouldn’t need to _ask_ about the father, they could just check the security footage.

“Sixteen weeks,” she says, hand coming up to cover her stomach. There’s something weirdly tentative about it, something uncertain in the way her fingers curl in her shirt, and he wonders how long she’s known. 

Was she tipped off the same moment HYDRA was? Or has she known for a while? Has she been working to hide it?

Remembering the last time he was called to this base—just last week, when she was literal minutes away from making it out of the building—his stomach twinges a little with what might be guilt.

Which is ridiculous. It’s not _his_ fault she had unprotected sex.

“Further than I was expecting,” he says, and counts back to distract himself. “Malibu?”

She looks away, which he’s gonna take as a yes. So. Sometime during Skye’s recovery, while they were parked in California, Simmons found some random to fuck—probably to take her mind off of Skye. That explains how it slipped past him; he was pretty distracted there, all tangled up in his feelings and attachment.

But he doesn’t wanna think about Skye right now (or ever, really). Instead, he dredges up what little he knows about pregnancy. “Sixteen weeks is four months—second trimester, right?”

“…Right.”

“They let you see a doctor?” he asks, looking around the suite. He’s noticing a distinct lack of medical personnel. “Run…tests, or whatever?”

“No.” Simmons narrows her eyes at him, appearing startled and a bit suspicious. “Just a blood test to confirm the pregnancy.”

“Well, that’s no good,” he says. If pop culture’s taught him anything, it’s that pregnant women need lots of doctor’s visits. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure you get what you need.”

She opens her mouth—about to ask why he cares, knowing her—only to close it swiftly as the door swings back open to admit a very petulant Vogler.

“For you,” he says, thrusting a cell phone at him.

Grant stands to accept it. “Hello?”

“Agent Ward,” Whitehall greets him. “I understand congratulations are in order.”

“So it seems,” he says. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Funny,” Whitehall chuckles. “I was about to ask you the same. How would you like to proceed?”

That’s…unexpected. No way is Whitehall actually leaving this up to him. “Sir?”

“This isn’t the first time one of our agents has impregnated a prisoner, Agent Ward,” Whitehall says. Grant decides not to think too hard about that. “And I’m not an unreasonable man. If you have any interest in the child, you can certainly be accommodated. If not…”

That Simmons won’t be consulted either way goes without saying.

“Thank you, sir,” Grant says. “I appreciate that—and I’m very interested. I’d like to keep Jemma as close as possible…with your permission, of course.”

In his peripheral vision, she starts—whether at his words or just the use of her first name, it’s hard to say.

“She’s yours,” Whitehall says easily. “You can do what you like—as long as she remains productive. And I trust you’ll do a better job of keeping her in place than Córdoba has?”

“Much better,” Grant confirms, and hesitates. He needs to step carefully here—he might be a valuable and willing (if not loyal) asset, but that doesn’t mean pushing too hard won’t get the kid used as leverage against _him_. “I can also do better keeping her in the lab…but as I understand it, that won’t always be safe.”

“No,” Whitehall agrees. “However, as long as Doctor Simmons’ performance remains satisfactory in the meantime, I’m sure we can find her some less…hazardous work when the time comes.”

“I’ll see that it does,” Grant promises.

“Excellent,” Whitehall says. “When you return to base, you can consult Doctor Carson for medical arrangements.”

There’s a _click_ and dead air before Grant can respond, and he passes the phone silently back to Vogler. He’s not sure about the tone that accompanied _medical arrangements_ , and he makes a mental note to make his position on Simmons or the baby being harmed _very clear_ to this Carson guy.

For now, though, he turns to Simmons. “Get up.”

“Why?” she asks warily.

“We’re gonna pack up your stuff,” he says, “and then you’re coming home with me.”

 _Like hell_ , her expression says, but after a quick glance at the fuming Vogler, she obediently stands. Grant’s pretty sure he’s got a hell of an argument ahead of him; as soon as it’s safe, she’s gonna have a lot to say.

 

 

 

Sure enough, though she keeps her silence through picking up her (meager) belongings from her (tiny, cold) cell, the second he raises his Quinjet’s ramp, she rounds on him.

“What are you _doing_?” she demands.

He drops pointedly into the pilot’s seat. “Right now, I’m taking off. You might wanna sit down.”

With a queasy look out the windshield, she does—carefully placing herself directly behind his seat, on the bench, the better to block out the view. Her mouth stays thankfully shut as he has a brief exchange with the tower—even HYDRA needs air traffic control—but he can practically feel her focus sharpen when he tells them he’s going dark for the flight.

It’s not unusual for international flights (there are a lot of ears in the skies these days), so it doesn’t raise any eyebrows, and he’s cleared to proceed without delay. Once they’ve reached cruising altitude, he flips the communications array to off—and Simmons promptly kicks the back of his chair.

“What are you doing?” she asks again. “You know perfectly well you’re not—”

“I was saving your kid’s life,” he interrupts, even as he switches on the autopilot. It’s a six hour flight to the base he calls home, and he’s not hashing this out with her while on the stick. “Pregnancy makes you a liability and you know it. They’d have strung you along until you being pregnant was too much trouble, and then they’d deal by making you not pregnant anymore.” He gets up, turns to face her. “So I gave them a reason not to. You’re welcome.”

Simmons is stark white, save for two furious spots of color on her cheeks. “It’s _your_ fault I’m in this position in the first place!”

“Hey, I didn’t knock you up,” he defends. “That’s on you. A little gratitude would—”

“You _kidnapped_ me!” she snaps, shooting to her feet. “You have happily and _repeatedly_ played a large role in my captivity! You’ve foiled my escape attempts, emotionally manipulated me, and—on more than one occasion—personally harmed me! The only reason I’m at risk is because you’re a traitor who handed me over to the enemy!”

Her voice rises as she goes on, and by _enemy_ , she’s nearly shrieking. Grant briefly considers shouting back—it’s been known to scare her into silence (on very rare occasions)—but decides this’ll go better if at least _one_ of them is calm.

“You’re at risk because you won’t cooperate,” he corrects. “With a brain like yours, you could’ve been _running_ that damn base. All you had to do was play along, and Whitehall would’ve given you anything you asked for. You made _yourself_ a prisoner. That’s on you.”

Apparently in no mood to listen to reason, she lashes out with one fist, and then the other. He dodges her first punch but lets the second one hit—it’s her weaker hand anyway—so he can use her overextension to catch and trap her in his arms.

“You _bastard_ ,” she bites out, stomping on his instep. Or trying to, at least; between her flimsy little flats and his combat boots, she can’t really make an impact. “How _dare_ you.”

This isn’t the first time they’ve done this—it isn’t even the tenth—and she knows by now that she’s not getting away until he lets her go. That doesn’t keep her from struggling futilely against him, though, and as he’s hampered by a sudden fear of accidentally causing a miscarriage by grabbing her the wrong way, she actually manages to land a few good hits.

(Her elbows are fucking _sharp_ , but at least she’s given up on biting.)

Still, it’s been weeks since she fought until he was forced to knock her out, and it’s no time at all before she’s slumping against him, breathing hard and obviously fighting tears.

That part—the tears—that’s new. Struck by something like pity, he shifts his grip so he’s more hugging than restraining her. If he’s any judge, it’s terror that’s driving her this time, not rage.

So he’s gonna ignore the lack of gratitude, just this once, and move on to reassuring her.

“No one’s gonna hurt you,” he promises, “ _or_ the baby. As long as they think it’s mine, you’ll be safe.”

Simmons deflates, forehead falling to his collarbone as she abandons her half-hearted attempts to shove him away.

“As long as I’m in HYDRA,” she says, “there’s no such thing.”

“Yes, there is.” He takes two steps back and sits them on the bench, maneuvering her easily into his lap. She doesn’t fight it—on the contrary, she loosens a little, the stiff fury melting out of her as she curls into him. She might be angry at him for his betrayal, resent the part he’s played in her continued imprisonment, but she never refuses his comfort for long. “I’ll take care of you, Jemma. Of _both_ of you.”

Physical acquiescence or no, her voice is no less firm when she says, “The only way you can take care of me is by letting me go.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not?” she demands, pushing off his shoulder to sit up straight. “We’ve gone dark, haven’t we? Just set down somewhere in America and let me go! The team will come get—”

“The team thinks you’re a traitor,” he says over her.

She freezes. “What?”

“It wasn’t my intention.” He softens his voice as he takes her hands in his (the better to keep her from hitting him again). “But I guess John said some things when the team found us at Cybertek and…well…they think you’re with us.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head—but her voice is barely a whisper. She’s trying to convince herself. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he says. She’s too frozen by her shock to get violent, so he releases one of her hands and cups her cheek instead, thumb resting beneath a still-healing cut she got three escape attempts ago. “Haven’t you wondered why they haven’t tried to rescue you? It’s been _months_.”

“I…no. No, you’re lying. They just haven’t been able to find me, that’s all.”

She’s so totally shaken that he almost regrets this tactic, but it’s for her own good. The sooner she accepts that she’s got nowhere to go, the sooner she’ll stop trying to escape. As long as she’s cooperating, he can keep her safe.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the truth,” he says. ‘I’m the only person you can count on.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Her drifting eyes snap back to his, shock falling away to make room for that familiar fury.

“Count on?” she demands. “If it weren’t for you—”

“If it weren’t for me, your kid’d be dead or a science experiment before its first birthday.” As her hand steals to her stomach, his follows, covering her fingers _and_ the slight swell hiding under her shirt. “It’s safe because it’s mine—and so are you. You wanna throw a tantrum on this flight, that’s fine, but by the time we touch down, you’d better be treating me less like the bad guy and more like the father of your child.”

Her mouth twists oddly, but her eyes stay locked on their hands. “You _aren’t_ , though.”

“Far as the rest of the world is concerned, I am. And that’s for _your_ benefit, not mine,” he says, squeezing her fingers loosely. “Unless I’ve got this all wrong and you’d actually like an abortion? I’m sure HYDRA would—”

“No,” she interrupts. She drags in one shuddering breath, then another, and then bows her head. “Fine. It’s your baby.”

For all that he knows it’s a complete lie, the words give him a weird rush.

It’s probably just the circumstances. He’s always been a possessive kind of guy—spending your whole life fighting to keep anything for yourself’ll do that to you—and Simmons is still in his lap. Having her curled against him, pale and vulnerable and depending on him for protection…it’s just pushing all his buttons, that’s all.

Still, it’s a weirdly appealing picture, playing dad to Simmons’ kid. He’s gonna be a good one—or he’d like to think so, at least. Not like he’s had a lot of practice, but he _has_ had plenty of examples, both good and bad.

He’ll be good.

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises. Her hair’s hanging in her face, and he tucks it behind her ear in time to catch her eyes slipping shut. “You’ll be safe with me, Jemma. You have my word.”

“As though _that_ counts for anything,” she says, but the words are more resigned than spiteful. She leans into him again, resting her head on his shoulder in what he knows is the closest thing he’s gonna get to a thank you. “You won’t let HYDRA hurt her?”

“Never,” he swears—and he means it, too. Then his mind catches up with her sentence. “It’s a girl?”

She shrugs, wry expression reminding him that she hasn’t seen any doctors about this. All she has to go on is a blood test.

“Her just sounds better than it,” she says. “More…I don’t know. Real.”

“Her it is, then,” he agrees, hugging her a little closer. “And HYDRA won’t hurt her. Nobody will. I’ll make sure of it.”

After a long moment, she hugs him back, turning into him to do it properly. She buries her face in the curve of his neck in the process, and her death grip on him speaks even louder than her muffled voice.

“You’d better.”


End file.
